Barbara Gordon's fingers flew across her keyboard, lines of code scrolling past at speeds that would give most programmers eyestrain. Three monitors surrounded her wheelchair, each displaying different information about Gotham's newest mystery.
Adrian Cross. Age: 27. Former Army Special Forces, 75th Ranger Regiment. Declared KIA three weeks ago in Kaznia. Classified mission parameters. Next of kin: none. Metahuman classification: unknown. Current threat assessment: monitoring.
She pulled up the footage from last night—traffic cameras, security systems, even someone's dropped phone that had captured thirty seconds of the Talon fight. Barbara watched Adrian move, her trained eye catching details that most would miss.
"He's learning as he fights," she murmured, rewinding to watch a particular sequence again. "Look at that. First Talon, his response is fast but imprecise. Second Talon, he's already compensating. Third Talon, he's predicted the attack pattern. He's adapting in real-time."
"Talking to yourself again, Oracle?"
Barbara didn't jump—she'd heard the window open two minutes ago. "Nightwing. I thought you were in Blüdhaven."
Dick Grayson dropped from the ceiling with acrobatic grace, landing in a crouch before straightening with a grin. Even after all these years, he moved like the circus performer he'd once been—fluid, precise, and just a little bit showy.
"Heard we had a new player in town. Thought I'd check in." He leaned over her shoulder, studying the monitors. "Whoa. Bruce really brought him to the cave? That's... unusually trusting."
"Bruce ran every background check imaginable. Adrian Cross was a legitimate soldier with an exemplary record. No red flags, no suspicious connections. Just a man who died serving his country and somehow came back different." Barbara pulled up the cellular analysis Bruce had shared. "Look at this. His DNA is rewriting itself constantly. Every time Bruce exposed a sample to a new stimulus, it adapted. Toxins, radiation, extreme temperatures—his cells evolved countermeasures in minutes."
Dick whistled low. "That's either incredibly useful or terrifying."
"Both," Barbara said. "According to Bruce's analysis, Adrian could theoretically copy any metahuman ability he's exposed to. Superman's strength, Flash's speed, even magical abilities if the exposure is prolonged enough. He's like a blank slate that rewrites itself to match whatever challenge he faces."
"So why is he still here? With power like that, he could go anywhere, do anything."
Barbara minimized the technical data and pulled up the behavioral analysis she'd been compiling. "Because according to every psychological marker I can measure, Adrian Cross is a fundamentally good person who just wants to help. He saved Dr. Chen without knowing who she was. He stood against the Court despite being outnumbered. And when Bruce offered him money to disappear, he chose to stay and train instead."
"You like him," Dick said, his grin becoming insufferable. "Oracle has a crush."
"I have professional interest in a metahuman with unprecedented abilities who's now living in our city," Barbara corrected, her cheeks warming slightly. "That's completely different from—stop smiling like that."
"Whatever you say." Dick moved to examine the other monitors. "So what's the plan? Bruce trains him, he becomes another bat-themed vigilante, and we all live happily ever after?"
"You know it's never that simple." Barbara pulled up a new window showing Court of Owls activity patterns. "The Court has tripled their Talon deployments since last night. They're hunting for both Dr. Chen and Adrian. And..." She hesitated, then shared what her analysis had revealed. "I think they know what Adrian is. Or at least, what he could become."
"What do you mean?"
Barbara highlighted a series of encrypted communications she'd intercepted. "The Court has been researching metahuman genetics for years. Dr. Chen was their lead scientist until she discovered they were planning to weaponize their findings. She tried to destroy her research and run, but—"
"But the Court doesn't let assets go," Dick finished grimly. "And now they want Adrian for the same reason. He's the perfect template for whatever they're building."
"Exactly. Which means—"
An alert flashed across her screens. Barbara's hands moved instantly, pulling up camera feeds from Crime Alley. Her breath caught.
"Dick."
The playfulness vanished from Nightwing's expression. "What is it?"
"Talons. Twelve of them, moving through Crime Alley in a search pattern." She zoomed in, enhancing the image. "They're not hunting randomly. They're checking safehouses."
"Bruce's safehouses?"
"No. Military safehouses. Black ops locations that someone with Adrian's clearance would know about." Barbara's mind raced through possibilities. "They're not looking for where Adrian is—they're looking for where he might go. People he might try to contact from his old life."
Dick was already moving toward the window. "I'll intercept. Can you warn Bruce?"
"Already sending the alert." Barbara's fingers danced across the keyboard, routing a priority message to the Batcave. "Dick, be careful. These aren't the standard Talons. Look at their equipment."
On screen, the Talons carried weapons that hummed with energy—electrified blades, neural disruptors, and what looked disturbingly like biological containment units.
"They're equipped for metahuman capture," Dick said, his voice tight. "They're not trying to kill Adrian. They want to take him alive."
"Which makes them even more dangerous. Nightwing—"
"I know. Don't engage, just observe and report." He paused at the window. "But if they go after civilians..."
"Then you do what you do best. Just don't die."
Dick's grin flashed briefly. "Where's the fun in that?"
Then he was gone, swinging into Gotham's night with practiced ease. Barbara watched him go, then turned back to her monitors with renewed focus.
Adrian Cross, she thought, pulling up every file she had on him. Who were you before you died? And who are you becoming now?
His military record was exemplary but impersonal—mission reports, commendations, efficiency ratings. Nothing that revealed the person behind the soldier. She dug deeper, bypassing official channels to access personal records. Medical history, psychological evaluations, even school transcripts.
A picture began to emerge. Adrian Cross, orphaned at fifteen when his parents died in a car accident. Joined the military at eighteen, served with distinction, volunteered for increasingly dangerous assignments. No romantic attachments. Few close friends. A man who'd built walls around himself and called it duty.
"You were lonely," Barbara murmured, studying a photo from his military ID. Even in the picture, his eyes held a distance, as if he was always watching from outside his own life. "You threw yourself into being the perfect soldier because you didn't know how to be anything else."
Her phone buzzed—Bruce, responding to her alert.
TRAINING SUSPENDED. MOVING ADRIAN TO SECURE LOCATION. KEEP EYES ON TALON MOVEMENTS. -B
Barbara acknowledged and expanded her surveillance net, tapping into every camera, every sensor, every electronic eye she could access. The Talons were good, but she was better. They wouldn't find Adrian—not while Oracle was watching.
A second message came through, this one from an encrypted channel she hadn't expected.
BARBARA. THIS IS ADRIAN. BRUCE GAVE ME THIS COMMUNICATOR. HE SAID YOU'RE ORACLE? THE PERSON WHO SEES EVERYTHING?
Barbara smiled despite the tension, typing quickly.
THAT'S ONE WAY TO PUT IT. YOU'RE SAFE?
YEAH. BRUCE HAS ME IN SOME KIND OF UNDERGROUND BUNKER. SAYS WE'RE STAYING PUT UNTIL THE TALON HUNT MOVES ON. IT'S... WEIRD. HIDING WHEN I COULD FIGHT.
IT'S CALLED TACTICS. SOMETIMES THE SMARTEST MOVE IS NOT ENGAGING.
There was a pause before Adrian responded.
BRUCE SAYS YOU'RE THE BEST INFORMATION SPECIALIST IN THE WORLD. THAT YOU SEE PATTERNS NO ONE ELSE CAN. IS THAT TRUE?
Barbara's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could deflect, keep it professional. Or she could be honest.
I SEE WHAT PEOPLE TRY TO HIDE. INCLUDING YOU.
WHAT DO YOU SEE WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME?
SOMEONE WHO'S SPENT HIS WHOLE LIFE FOLLOWING ORDERS. WHO DIED ALONE AND CAME BACK TERRIFIED OF BEING ALONE AGAIN. WHO'S TRYING VERY HARD TO BE GOOD EVEN THOUGH HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS ANYMORE.
The pause was longer this time.
THAT'S... UNCOMFORTABLY ACCURATE.
I ALSO SEE SOMEONE WHO DOVE IN FRONT OF A SNIPER BULLET FOR A STRANGER. WHO CHOSE TO STAY AND TRAIN RATHER THAN RUN. WHO'S SCARED BUT TRYING ANYWAY. THAT'S NOT NOTHING, ADRIAN.
THANK YOU. I THINK. BRUCE IS CALLING ME—SOMETHING ABOUT MEDITATION EXERCISES TO CONTROL MY POWERS. THIS IS GOING TO BE A LONG NIGHT.
WELCOME TO THE FAMILY. LONG NIGHTS ARE KIND OF OUR THING. -ORACLE
Barbara closed the chat window, a smile playing at her lips. On her monitors, Nightwing was shadowing the Talons through Crime Alley, keeping just out of sight. The Court's hunters moved with purpose, checking buildings with systematic precision. They wouldn't find what they were looking for, but their persistence was troubling.
She pulled up a new analysis window, cross-referencing Talon movement patterns with known Court operations. There—a gap in their search grid. A blind spot they were deliberately avoiding.
"Interesting," Barbara murmured, zooming in on the location. An abandoned apartment complex on the edge of Crime Alley, scheduled for demolition. Nothing special about it except...
Except three months ago, a genetics laboratory had been raided in that neighborhood. Equipment stolen, files destroyed, one scientist missing. The case had gone cold, but now—
Barbara's eyes widened. "Dr. Chen. They knew she'd been there."
She immediately opened a channel to Bruce.
THE COURT ISN'T HUNTING RANDOMLY. THEY'RE TRYING TO RECREATE DR. CHEN'S RESEARCH. CHECK ADRIAN'S BLOOD SAMPLES—MAKE SURE THEY'RE SECURE.
Bruce's response came within seconds.
SAMPLES DESTROYED PER PROTOCOL. BUT ORACLE—THEY DON'T NEED SAMPLES. IF THEY GET ADRIAN HIMSELF...
THEY'D HAVE A LIVING TEMPLATE FOR CREATING ADAPTIVE SOLDIERS. I KNOW.
Barbara's hands clenched briefly before returning to her keyboard. She pulled up building schematics, traffic patterns, security systems. If the Court wanted Adrian, they'd have to go through every firewall, every locked door, every digital defense she could create.
"Not today," she whispered to her screens. "Not on my watch."
Outside her window, Gotham's lights glittered like earthbound stars. Somewhere in the city, Adrian Cross was learning to be more than a weapon. And somewhere in the shadows, the Court of Owls was sharpening their talons.
But here, in her command center, Barbara Gordon prepared for war in the only way she knew how—by seeing everything, knowing everything, and making sure the people she protected stayed one step ahead of the darkness.
Her phone buzzed again. Another encrypted message, this one from Adrian.
BRUCE SAYS I'LL MEET THE REST OF THE TEAM SOON. SHOULD I BE WORRIED?
Barbara laughed, typing back quickly.
TERRIFIED. BUT DON'T WORRY—WE DON'T BITE. MUCH. -ORACLE
She could almost hear his nervous laugh through the text. Good. Nervous meant alert. Alert meant alive.
And keeping Adrian Cross alive had just become Oracle's top priority.
On her monitors, the hunt continued. But Barbara Gordon was ready.
She'd always been ready.